Blaine shuts his door with a soft click and it's just them in the room, hearts pounding and heads spinning as they reach for each other. Kurt frames Blaine's face in his hands and Blaine does the same. Kurt swallows and does his best to just breathe.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Glee, Fox does. And Ryan Murphy. Title from "G.I.N.A.S.F.S." by Fall Out Boy.Warnings are: SPOILERS for 3x05, my own interpretation of things (done in a waaaay different sense than how it's really gonna be done), first-time sex between two underage but consenting boys, minor swearing. Yes, I am going to continue writing about this moment because it's all I can think about adfghjkl;

Reviewers, y u so awesome? I really, really love all of you guys from the bottom of my heart.And holy crap, are you all still crying from "Asian F"? Because I certainly am. Congrats, Glee, it looks like you're back.

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xxxxXxxxx

Every movement starts with an action.

Every memory is made by experiencing.

Every encounter starts with a touch.

It's Blaine who moves first.

It's both of them who are scared.

They touch.

xxxxXxxxx

"My parents aren't home," Blaine says quietly, the soft, unsure quality of his voice barely audible over the radio as they pull into his driveway. He puts the car in park and shifts in the driver's seat. Beside him, Kurt is wringing his hands nervously, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as he stares at Blaine, out the window, and then back at Blaine. He feels a lump in his stomach and in his throat, ropes of worry and tension that uncoil and expand inside of him.

Here it is.

"For how long?" Kurt responds, his words laced with nerves and fear and his voice undeniably shaking.

"Until seven, eight at the latest."

Kurt takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, drums up the appropriate amount of courage and leans over, pecking Blaine on the lips before saying, "Let's go," and opening the door.

We're going to do it.

xxxxXxxxx

Kurt's taken the trek up to Blaine's room countless times before and can tell you when and where what pictures will appear: seven-year-old Blaine hugging the late family dog, an Australian shepherd named Chelsea, is at the beginning and so adorable; fifteen-year-old Blaine with the Warblers for the first time is smack in the middle, framed by professionally-taken performance photos; all his school pictures and family photos are interspersed throughout the long, cream-colored hallway.

Blaine is a few steps ahead of him, arm extended back as he holds onto Kurt's hand. His palm is warm, familiar, and the Anderson household smells as it always does— of warm caramel lattes—but there's something heavier in the air today, a change of sorts. Kurt knows that once Blaine's door closes there's no going back.

He doesn't want to go back.

Blaine shuts his door with a soft click and it's just them in the room, hearts pounding and heads spinning as they reach for each other. Kurt frames Blaine's face in his hands and Blaine does the same. Kurt swallows, does his best to just breathe, and looks into Blaine's warm eyes. He looks into the eyes he's been seeing for a whole year now, first as a mentor, then as a friend and finally, gloriously, as a boyfriend whom he's come to know better than anyone else in his life.

It's happening and he doesn't regret asking.

"I love you," he whispers, saying those words that Blaine had uttered first, those words that, up until this year, had only ever been said to him by family members.

"I love you, too," Blaine replies with all the sincerity he can muster.

They're scared, they're so scared but they can do this. It's just them and their bodies that function in sync. They had all summer to practice and they did, learning bodies and sighs and those pesky limits that they thought that already knew. Now, with nerves jingling at the upcoming opening of West Side Story, Kurt pushes Blaine back until he's lying on the bed, comforter fluffed up slightly around his body and those stupidly soft and luxurious pillows cradling his head. When Kurt moves to bracket Blaine's hips with his thighs, he keeps just a little space between them.

They've been here, of course they have, but they'd always stopped before they'd want more. They'd waited so long for each other and waiting just that little bit longer to go all the way, give themselves fully and unashamedly, isn't a big deal, not when they know that they're both not going anywhere.

As Kurt slips his hand under Blaine's head, threads his fingers through the gelled curls and leans down, they're through with waiting. Their argument about the bar is done and gone, paved over with apologizes and tears and gentle kisses, promises of we'll do this when we're ready, I swear. Kurt wants to take this moment and this moment alone to just be in love with his boyfriend.

They kiss, god, they kiss. Blaine's eyes slide shut and then Kurt's, falling closed like a dimmer switch until he can only hear, feel, smell Blaine around him. His hands are pressing into Kurt's hips, wrapped around as an anchor. His lips are hot and wet, breath soft and needy and panting. Blaine relocates a hand to Kurt's face, tilting his head as he tilts his own and Kurt never, ever wants to leave this bedroom, this moment.

"I really do love you, B," Kurt says in their own too-small world and he just can't stop saying it. It's all he can say because he still feels like this isn't real, like it's sophomore year again and he's alone, lusting after straight guys and not knowing what true, soulmate-level love is. He's still scared he's going to wake up and none of this will have happened, that Dalton would just be a figment of his imagination and this amazing boy would cease to exist.

Blaine laughs, smiles and stares at Kurt through thick, dark eyelashes. His cheeks are a little flushed high at the cheekbones, hazel eyes a little darker and rounder. "And I really, really love you, too, Dove." He rubs their noses together, brushing a loosened lock of hair from Kurt's forehead as he bites down on his lower lip, looking suddenly shy. "Do you think we should…?"

"Clothes?"

Blaine's flush spreads a little more and he nods. "Yeah. Clothes."

But this boy does exist, and Kurt wastes no time in undoing the buttons on his shirt slowly as he peppers each inch of skin with kisses. When the material is gathered at his sides, his torso exposed, Blaine sits up and shrugs it off, Kurt backing away until they're both on their knees. With shaking fingers Blaine undoes Kurt's, breathes in and out and stares, running his fingers from Kurt's clavicle down to the waistband of his jeans as he slips the shirt down over Kurt's arms, where it flutters to the bed, unimportant and useless. "Perfect," he murmurs as Kurt shivers and tilts his head back slightly.

They fall again, Kurt between Blaine's legs with no space between them, nothing but skin pressing together, weight heavy, and jeans rubbing in all the right places, Blaine moaning softly and Kurt moaning in return, flushed hot from arousal and a little embarrassment. This is new, the part of rubbing and kissing shirtless and Blaine is intoxicating, better than any concoction anyone could invent. Blaine's mouth is hot and wet, teeth sharp in a good way against the skin of his collarbone as a bruise is sucked there clumsily.

His hands shake more when he unzips Blaine's jeans and slides them down his legs, tugging them off until they land on the floor and Blaine's in nothing but his boxers, in nothing but underwear that doesn't hide anything. Kurt unconsciously licks his lips as he looks down and takes in the outline of Blaine's cock, hard but not quite there yet.

He's out of his own jeans faster than any quick, post-slushie outfit change he's ever done.

"I—I bought lube. And condoms," Kurt says awkwardly. "Oh my god, I was so embarrassed that I almost had Finn do it—there's enough that I know to blackmail him with—but I did it on two separate trips so it'd look less suspicious."

Blaine laughs and tugs Kurt down, Kurt yelping a little bit in surprise, and kisses him, hard and sound and promising as he twines his fingers in through Kurt's hair and noses at his cheek when he's done. "Only you," he says fondly, softly.

The underwear is gone too late and too soon all at once and suddenly Kurt is looking at a very real, very naked boy who's just as hard as he is. It's strange, really, because he's known all along that being gay would one day lead up to this very moment, but it's stranger that it's happening now, before he's eighteen, before he's even out of high school. Kurt had always assumed that living in Ohio would mean being lonely and single and sexually inexperienced until he got the hell out of here for college, but Blaine seems to have a way of turning Kurt's world completely on its slide.

"You're so beautiful, Blaine." Kurt's shocked that he's saying these words and not thinking them, that he's allowed to and no one can say no. And it's true, because Blaine is gorgeous, all cut lines and one hundred percent boy and all Kurt's, apparently.

"Give yourself some credit," Blaine replies before kissing Kurt again and it's nice, better now that they have their clothes off and it isn't as awkwardly horrible as Kurt was fearing it would be. They shift, thighs open and legs crook and there's the fleeting, delicious friction of cock against cock and Kurt can't help the surprised moan that slips out of his mouth, the way his eyes widen and his body jerks into it and away from it all in the span of seconds.

Blaine's eyes are just as wide, mouth red and wet and plush. He rests his forehead against Kurt's and they stay like that for a bit, breathing in sync and hearing the blood rush in their ears.

Blaine says, "I want to… I should… I mean, I'd like to try…." His cheeks heat but Kurt knows what he means and he's nervous all over again because he's barely done this to himself.

"Don't you know more than I do about this?"

Blaine shrugs, shakes his head and rubs his palm over the smooth slope of Kurt's shoulder. "I know enough," he says, "that I could guide you. But to be honest, I've never really done it to myself."

"Then how do you know you want to?" Kurt asks with a cocked head and a genuine confused stare.

"It's you." Blaine's answer is concise and sincere, a smile lighting up his smile. "I want to do everything with you, Kurt. You know that. And it's not like we can't… switch off if I don't like it."

Kurt kisses him like he needs air.

Under Blaine's careful, detailed instructions he's on his back again, pillow propped up under his hips and three of Kurt's fingers slathered in lube, moving in and out at a steady pace as he scissors and stretches, watching with fascination as his fingers slip in and out of Blaine's body. The first slide in had been a little difficult and fumbling, but two fingers, and then three fingers deep went smoother, when the burning stretch became a little duller, more spiked with fullness.

When Blaine gasps "I'm ready" as Kurt pushes his fingers deeper, crooks them and is rewarded with Blaine's body jolting, that fear is back, paralyzing him. Blaine grabs the condom and opens it, tugging on Kurt's arm until he scoots up and Blaine can slide it on, rolling it down to the base of Kurt's cock and making sure there's enough room at the end.

"Are you sure you haven't done this before?" Kurt snarks with a swallowed moan, squirting some lube onto his palm and slicking his dick.

Blaine smirks at him and winks as he says, "Positive. I'd remember if we'd had sex before, gorgeous."

Kurt swats him on the arm and Blaine laughs, loud and carefree. Kurt's heart swells with love and then he's positioning himself, Blaine lifting his legs to wrap around Kurt's waist. Kurt grasps his cock, looking into Blaine's eyes and letting the moment hang in the air, the moment between when they'd become more than just boyfriends—they'd be attached. They wouldn't be virgins anymore: a part of innocence would be lost but in its placed would be connection, love, something found only in this level of commitment. They don't say anything.

Then Kurt pushes in and Blaine arches and arches, head tossed back and dug into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut and mouth turned into a frown as pain shows itself in the rigidity of his body, the way his hands clench into the bedsheets as Kurt inches forward, hips stuttering as more and more of his cock sinks deeper into Blaine, deeper into unbelievable tightness and silkiness and heat that he can feel even through the latex of the condom.

"Kurt," Blaine grits out, a tear sliding down his cheekbone to disappear into his hair. His breath is shallow and too quick. "Shit, it hurts."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Kurt says as he slowly bottoms out, lifting a hand up to wipe away the glistening tear trail. Blaine gasps and tenses, his body fighting against the intrusion as Kurt shifts. "It'll get better, sweetheart. Just relax, okay? Relax for me, Blaine." Kurt bends, rests his forehead on Blaine's chest, feeling his heart pounding beneath skin and muscle and bone. Blaine's legs are tight around his waist, ankles locked and feet resting just above the swell of Kurt's ass.

Blaine relaxes, but not much. He opens his eyes to slits, blinks, and Kurt looks down at him, overwhelming love and affection shining in his eyes. His still-kiss-swollen lips are stretched wide in that smile that's only ever for Blaine; he thumbs away another escaped tear and kisses the tip of Blaine's nose as he stills and waits for confirmation to move.

"Okay," Blaine eventually says, voice still strained and hoarse even as his body's relaxed enough to loosen his muscles. "I'll be fine, Kurt. Just, please, move," he adds at Kurt's skeptical look.

Kurt does, a careful thrust that barely jostles them, just a slick slide of his cock half-out and back in. Blaine's pained gasp tapers into pleasured and one of his hands lets go of the sheets to cup Kurt's face. Kurt opens his eyes from where they'd slid shut and allows himself to be astounded that this is really happening, that Blaine, his first boyfriend is underneath him, around him as he breathes and moves and exists.

"I love you," Kurt says, leaning down and bending Blaine in half as he kisses him, soft and sweet and overflowing with emotion. He feels around blindly on the bed for Blaine's hand, and when he finds it, fingers still clenched and tendons raised along the smooth, dark skin, he grips, tugs and turns, interlocking their fingers and resting their hands, palm-to-palm, on the pillow beside Blaine's head.

"Fuck," Blaine gasps, grip tightening around Kurt's as he shifts, arches his neck up to clumsily press his lips against Kurt's, brushing his tongue along Kurt's lower lip before dipping shallowly into his mouth. "I love you, too, Kurt. So much, so much."

"'M not gonna last," Kurt says, hips snapping a little quicker now, enough to slide Blaine up the bed by an inch or so. He doesn't have a free hand to reach between them and jerk Blaine off and he can feel him, hard and hot and leaking, fuck, between them. He's already close, overwhelmed and so lost in it that he doesn't notice Blaine's hand between them, wrapped around his cock as he pulls in short strokes, keeping his fist tight around the head.

When Kurt comes, he doesn't expect it. It seizes him, takes control and overrides every other feeling until he's swimming in pleasure, alive with the electricity of it and he never knew that anything could feel this good. Blaine's ass is clenching around him, drawing tight and squeezing and Kurt's coming harder than he ever had, mouth dropped open in a silent exclamation until the familiar numbing sensation seeps its way through his limbs.

Blaine's head goes back, tendons in his neck taut and strained as he comes over his hand and stomach. His voice is caught on a moan, back arched up off of the bed as Kurt slips free. They catch their breath and Kurt resists looking at where Blaine is still stretched, probably red and swollen. Now, he wants to focus on kissing away the salted tracks on Blaine's face and let it just be love.

"Shit," he says with an uncharacteristic swear, carefully sliding off the condom and tying it off with clumsy hands. "I-I'm—I've actually done it."

The reality is late in sinking it, but it does, and hard. He'd just had sex with his boyfriend, his boyfriend who's still unmoving with sweat and come glistening on his torso.

He'd had sex.

"Next time," Blaine says, his voice a little shaky and tired, "we're gonna make it last longer because there are so many things I want to do to you, Kurt Hummel."

A rush of emotions sweeps over Kurt and he smiles, lazy and sated, crawling over to curl next to Blaine without caring that they're sweaty and sticky and hot. There's time still.

There will always be time.

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